Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(47)

He would be her demise.

No one would ever touch her but him. She was his. She was never getting away.

As soon as Maria’s taste burst on Raphael’s tongue he stilled. His heart raced. Raphael didn’t understand the reaction, his muscles locked in paralysis as he tried to decipher the foreign feeling. There was a heat in his chest he didn’t recognize.

But when he looked up at her face, at the flush to her skin and the throbbing pulse in her neck, it all became clear to him. She was perfection. Of course she would taste that way too. It was his soul telling him he had finally found the one. It just affirmed to Raphael that she was it. He had found his lust’s perfect half, his sacrificial lamb.

Groaning at the wave of possessiveness rushing through his blood, Raphael licked along Maria’s pussy, from hole to clit. Her moans bled into the hymns playing in the background, a hedonistic harmony to the sacred melody. She was all he could taste. Her heat on his tongue was all he could feel. And he couldn’t stop. With every lick he needed more and more, insatiability taking ownership of his actions. Maria shook under his mouth, and when he looked up, he caught rabid desperation on her pretty face.

Lifting his head, he paused just long enough to order, “Grip my hair.” Maria obeyed so quickly it made him groan and his dick throb. “Pull,” he ordered darkly. Maria didn’t hesitate. As he sank his mouth back onto her cunt, her fingers raked at the strands. Raphael’s eyes watered as Maria, lost to euphoria, pulled at his messy hair and ripped at his scalp. Raphael ground his dick into the mattress as he devoured her, licked and sucked her clit until her cries were a worship song of her own. He felt her clit throb harder and harder in his mouth, until, with a final yank on his hair, strands coming free in her hands, Maria came, flooding onto his tongue. But Raphael didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He was addicted as he licked and lapped and swallowed her taste down, parched, as if he’d been lost in the desert for a month and Maria’s pussy was his blessed relief of water.

Maria jerked underneath him, and he knew she couldn’t take anymore. It only made him push harder, forcing her further and further toward the brink of oblivion. Raphael kept going, testing her submission, seeing how far he could push her until she defied his orders. It wasn’t until she whimpered, pained cries stammering from her shaking lips, that Raphael pulled back. His cheeks were on fire as he crawled over her fatigued body. Maria’s eyes were leaden, tears falling in streams down her cheeks. The sight of her undone, crying tears caused by his ministrations, made a burst of pleasure flood his balls. Seeing her spent and exhausted made him relax. With her gaze fixed on his, Raphael licked his lips, still tasting her on his tongue like the finest wine. Maria watched his every move, her pale skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Raphael bent down and licked along her neck, lapping up a wayward teardrop that was trying to escape. There wasn’t a part of her that could run from him.

He would catch her. He always would.

When Raphael reared back, it was to find Maria staring at his chest, her tears waning and her breaths slowing. A strange sense of calmness washed over his body. Raphael paused, unused to the foreign feeling of peace traveling from his head to his toes. He never felt calm. Always itched for more. More sex, more kills, more death. In his fascination, Raphael reached down for her hand. As soon as their palms connected and their fingers entwined, he stilled with curiosity. She was shaking. A strange swirling stirred in his stomach, giving his skin goosebumps. Was she afraid of him? Maria’s fingers tightened around his. He studied her face. She was staring at their clasped hands. He felt a peculiar stutter in his chest when he followed her gaze.

Raphael hated to be touched intimately unless he ordered it. Unless it helped him get his kill. None of his victims ever touched him this way; he forbade it. But just as he was about to wrench his hand from Maria’s, her thumb gently ghosted over his palm. His heart started beating heavily. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t ripped his hand away, forced her to get on her knees and kiss his feet in forgiveness for her boldness. Ensured that she knew he wasn’t to be touched unless instructed. But when Maria’s thumb drifted across his palm again, Raphael groaned and he slammed her hand flat against his chest. He hissed at the intimate contact. It was a brand as searing as the Saint Peter’s cross the Brethren had plunged onto his flesh. His eyes rolled closed as he fought the feel of her soft hands on his bare skin. He was on fire, his blood rushing through his veins like lava.

It was painful.

Uncomfortable, yet he didn’t push her away.

As he looked down at her, seeing her blue eyes wide and her lips parted as she studied their joined hands on his chest, Raphael thundered past the impenetrable wall that shielded him from letting in weakness and rasped, “Touch me, little rose.” The minute the words had fled his mouth he felt his skin break out in shivers. Anger rose inside him at his foolish move. He was the one who did the touching. He was the only one in charge.

He opened his mouth, about to revoke his order. What was he thinking? No one touched him. They didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t stand it. He—

Maria’s fingers twitched, then, escaping the cover of his palm, began floating over his hot skin. The boiling anger that was threatening to break loose and potentially end Maria’s life cooled in an instant, ice water to a roaring flame as her timid fingers crawled over his pecs. Raphael was as still as a statue as her fingers explored. His muscles twitched under her touch. He could barely draw breath.